


I Found You Twice

by cywscross



Series: Tumblr Prompts 2015 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Stiles, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>consumedly asked: for your mis prompts/meme - steter 3. drunk!fic <3</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Found You Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consumedly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumedly/gifts).



> Ooh, okay, drunk!fic. Forewarning: I never can seem to write Steter without at least a little bit of angst.

“I wanna drink more!” Stiles whines even as Peter half-drags, half-carries him towards the car and away from the party still in full swing in the loft.

“You have work tomorrow,” Peter reminds him unsympathetically. “And you told me to cut you off at eleven and take you home ‘no matter what, Peter’, so I am. You should be delighted that I'm a man of my word, Stiles.”

Stiles grumbles a wordless complaint and snuffles against Peter’s neck as Peter gives up on helping his mate walk and just scoops him up instead.

“You're not a man o’ yur word,” Stiles accuses. “You’re _mean_! And ’m not tired yet!”

Peter rolls his eyes. Stiles always deteriorates back to a petulant child when he’s inebriated. It’s as amusing as it is exasperating.

He buckles Stiles into the passenger seat, and then they’re soon on their way back to their shared apartment, Stiles rambling sleepily about one thing or another as he’s prone to do whenever he’s drunk. Peter only listens with half an ear.

They pass by the cemetery, and Stiles falls silent, head tilting back, gaze – while still hazy – focusing on the gates of the graveyard right up until Peter turns a corner and it disappears from sight.

Peter side-eyes him before silently reaching over and curling a hand around Stiles’. After a moment, he gets a squeeze in return. They both think of Stiles’ father, laid to rest beside his wife not a year ago after a feral Alpha – not Peter this time around – tore into him before the Pack could save him. It took everything Peter could think of – one-sided conversation, cajoling, silent support, making sure Stiles ate and slept and left the house, even occasional begging – to pull his mate away from that black hole of depression and probably eventual suicide that Stiles almost refused to crawl out of even with Peter at his side twenty-four/seven.

(Peter will never be able to put into words how relieved he was when Stiles started talking again, started _living_ again, because if Stiles had chosen death instead, there would've been nothing left for Peter to live for.)

Stiles doesn't say anything again until they're back home and in the privacy of their shared bedroom.

“You f’rgot me,” Stiles slurs out, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Peter cocks an eyebrow as he wrangles the boy out of his jeans and sweater before tipping him onto the bed. “Forget you? When did I do that? I assure you, Stiles, you're a rather memorable individual.”

Even drunk, Stiles manages to give him a rather impressive unimpressed look.

“Fla’ry won’ get you an’where,” He says in garbled tones, flopping back with his limbs sprawled out like a starfish. “Doesn’ change th’ fact that you still f’rgot me.”

Peter strips out of his shirt and pants, and then he proceeds to shove Stiles over until he gets his half of the bed back, only for Stiles to attach himself to Peter’s side like a barnacle once he’s lying down.

“...When did I forget you?” Peter asks after a long moment of him wracking his brain to try and figure out what Stiles was going on about. His mate talks mostly nonsense when he’s intoxicated but it’s usually... understandable nonsense.

On the few occasions that it isn’t, Stiles wanders into depressed drunk territory, which is never a good thing, and shouldn't be left to fester.

“Hmm?” Stiles burbles sleepily, sounding like he’s well on his way to dreamland already.

Peter debates letting him sleep before deciding against it and jostling the shoulder that Stiles is resting against. He’s curious, not to mention Stiles sometimes reveals rather interesting – and occasionally embarrassing – personal information when he’s smashed, and no one’s ever accused Peter of being a good man. He loves Stiles, he does, but that doesn't mean he isn’t going to take shameless advantage of any presented opportunities to learn more about his mate, and maybe get some blackmail material out of it in the process.

Of course, should anybody else try the same thing with Stiles, Peter would be more than happy to rip out their throat. With his teeth. Or his claws. He’s not picky.

“You said I forgot you,” Peter repeats, ignoring the disgruntled noise Stiles makes. “When did I do that?”

Amber eyes open to half-mast, the colour hazy and soft. “Mm, years ago,” Stiles mutters dismissively, eyelids drooping again. “Doesn’ matter.”

Peter frowns in perplexity. They've been together for three years, and they've known each other for a grand total of nearly seven. He’s fairly certain that he hasn't forgotten Stiles in any capacity during any of that time.

He rolls onto his side, and Stiles automatically shifts to accommodate the change in position, pillowing his head on Peter’s arm instead of his shoulder.

“I’d like to know,” Peter insists, fingers carding idly through Stiles’ hair before lightly tracing the knobs of the boy’s spine with one finger.

Stiles huffs and squirms but the tickling sensation makes his eyes flutter open again, as Peter knew it would.

“Pe _teerrr_...”

Peter smirks a little. “The sooner you explain, the sooner you get to sleep. Besides, I thought you said you weren’t tired yet.”

He gets a sulky glower for that one.

“S’nothin’ important,” Stiles finally sighs out blearily. “I used ta visit m’mom at the ’ospital all the time, tha’s all.”

He pauses to crack a yawn, and Peter’s brow knits even further in consternation. What has that got to do with anything?

“An’ I didn’ like the smells there,” Stiles continues. “An’ sometimes, Dad wan’ed some alone time ta talk with Mom, but they didn’ wanna actually tell me to go ’way. Stupid. So sometimes I preten’ed to go visit Melissa for a while, or I said I wan’ed to go eat lunch, but I’d really jus’ go walk aroun’ for a bit.”

He pauses again. His heartbeat is slower with the extra alcohol in his bloodstream.

“And then I got lost one time,” Stiles eventually goes on in a low mumble. “Well not r’lly. I was ’splorin’, but ’s a hospital, ya know? Wasn’ r’lly _s’posed_ to, so I went somewhere with not a lotta nurses doin’ rounds very much, and when I got there, there was this- this one guy with no visitors who wouldn’ wake up and had scars on his face-”

Peter stops breathing.

“-and cuz he was all alone, I sat with ’im for a while.”

Peter forces oxygen back into his lungs, and then – abruptly – he rolls out of bed, heedless of the protesting squawk Stiles makes at losing his favourite pillow. He heads straight for his study down the hall, and it doesn't take him long to dig out what he’s looking for.

“Are these yours?” Peter asks the moment he slides back into bed, sticking several pieces of paper under Stiles’ nose.

Stiles goes cross-eyed for several seconds, blinking sluggishly at what Peter’s showing him, and then a goofy smile spreads over his face as he bobs his head a few times. “Heeyy, yeah! Those’re mine! I drew ’em. And you kept ’em!”

He beams up at Peter like Peter’s just given him the world, genuinely elated in such a childishly innocent way that Peter can’t help drawing Stiles close again so that he can nestle into Peter’s side once more.

He doesn't let go of the papers though. They’re drawings – crumpled and mostly in an array of faded crayon colours – of outdoor sceneries and wild animals and bold-lettered ‘GET WELL SOON’s. According to that crazy nurse of his, they used to be tacked on the wall but were taken down in the end and – miraculously – weren’t thrown out, placed in a drawer in the standard bedside table in his room instead.

“I got caught by a nurse evne- eventually,” Stiles grouches. “’specially when I didn’ r’lly have an excuse to be there an’more since m’mom died.”

It’s only when Stiles is half out of it that he can talk so detachedly about either of his parents. Even the grief is held at bay.

“An’ she tol’ me I didn’ have _permission_ ,” Stiles makes a face like the very idea of needing permission to do _anything_ is a completely foreign concept to him. Peter has to grin at that. “Cuz yur fam’ly left inruc- intru- in-struc-shuns that you weren’ t’have vis’tors.”

The good humour flees, and Peter’s jaw flexes with a sudden flux of rage. Logically, he knows that the decision was probably to keep hunters from being allowed in to see him, but then, if hunters really wanted to get to him in the state he was in, no hospital would've gotten in their way, and it would've been so very, very easy.

He remembers – just for a second – Laura’s blood gushing between his teeth, red and hot and filling his nose with the stench of triumph, and he almost wishes he can do it again.

Fingers brush against his right cheek, and Peter blinks back into the present to meet the drowsy concern in Stiles’ eyes. “Peter? Y’okay?”

Peter exhales softly and leans into Stiles’ palm for a moment, and then he twists a little to place the drawings on the nightstand before settling back down again and folding Stiles into his arms.

“I’m fine,” He murmurs into Stiles’ hair. “And I’m sorry I forgot.”

He feels Stiles shrug before curling further into him. “S’okay. I only vis’ted for ’bout a year. ’m sorry you had to be alone after that.”

Peter says nothing in response, listening instead as Stiles’ breathing evens out into slumber at last. His arms tighten around his mate.

He thinks, tomorrow morning, he’ll call in sick for Stiles, and then he’ll make them breakfast in bed. After that, well, spoiling his mate silly (in more ways than one) sounds like the perfect way to spend an entire day off together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


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